


Like An Orange

by CeleRo



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Mild Gore, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleRo/pseuds/CeleRo
Summary: Dante's first Devil Trigger.





	Like An Orange

He crawls under the bed sheets. He tries not to make a sound. It had never gotten this bad before.

A nightmare. All it had taken for it to happen was a simple nightmare. He remembered his mother, who just made sure he was out of their view. He remembered her trembling hand, still holding his, but accompanied by desperate whispers. ‘Let go.’ ‘Do not come out.’ And so, he remembered letting go of her hand and curling in his hiding place, as the temperature rose.

‘Vergil!’ He heard her shout. ‘Vergil! Run!’ And his eyes were unable to catch a single glimpse beyond the smoke. He remembered the skin under his fingernails; he had scratched her arm, trying to keep her by his side to no avail.

He wanted to go out. To fight whatever had caught them by surprise, but he found himself paralyzed, as his breaths grew quicker, and it was hard to even keep his eyes open. They burned, just like the flames outside.

Then he heard his brother, screaming dear life, followed by his mother’s cries.

‘No! No, please! Let him go! Let him go! He’s not… He’s not…!’ Her voice got caught in a silent scream, as Dante’s eyes widen despite it hurting even further than before. He could not describe the guttural, animalistic noises he heard afterwards, as he could still make out soft, pained whimpers.

He then felt his small hiding spot giving in, as the walls seemed to grow closer together. They had prepared for this, but never really thought it would happen so soon. They did not count with the fire, or these old walls.

He discovered, to his horror and outmost apparent demise; that he could not get back out. With every passing second, it became harder and harder for him to breathe. He could hear his own heartbeat, strong, loud, and heavy. One last shrilling scream, as if it were the plea of a suffering soul consumed by the flames, shook him to his very core.

He woke up.

Now, he was trying his best not to wake any of the other children, as he felt himself fall from the bed, and did his best not to break down to a mess of raged cries and whimpers of pain. He crawled under the bed, unable to stop himself from shaking. He felt as if something was moving below his skin, burning like his eyes had that terrible night.

He felt it scratch and thrash inside of him, as a beast struggling to get out. He felt as if he was about to be torn open, as a new being took his place and consumed what was left of his fragile human body.

First it was the nails. He caught a glimpse of his left hand’s fingers, as they seemed to grow longer in the shape of claws, his actual nails bleeding and falling off, as they were pushed by harder, sharper ebony colored ones. He shrieked, unable to hold it back. He felt the same on his toes, yet he was too scared to really take look.

He found himself paralyzed once again, as the change followed its course.

He could only breath for a bit when he felt his back hurt. It seemed as if his spine was being ripped away from his back, but he was somehow still able to feel it, he felt his skin burn, and realized the puddle of blood soaking his shirt. The pain on his skin grew, as he felt the fabric of his shirt dig into his arms. More blood.

‘Peeled off like a fucking orange.’ He thought, crying yet being unable to keep his eyes open. He remembered the fire, and the smoke. The pain seemed to go away for the shortest instant. His shirt itched and became sticky, but soon an unimaginable headache made it impossible to feel anything else.

Something was growing out of his head, but he could not bring his hands up to feel it. He tasted blood on his mouth, as he traced his tongue over his now sharp teeth. His silent, weak cries had changed too. He was making the same terrifying sounds he heard that night. He thought he could open his eyes for a moment, and did see the lights had been turned on.

“Tony?! What the fuck?! Tony!”

“Don’t get near him! That’s not Tony, for fuck’s sake!”

“I told you he was a freak! We should have fucking thrown him in the fireplace, Satan is sleeping next to us!”

“Kids! Get out! Now!” Dante… Tony was finally able to focus on what was going on. He could see the children running out of the room, as the blinding light on the ceiling contributed to the massive headache. “God damn it, you’re not supposed to do that, not yet…”

He could hear a man’s voice, as he felt himself leaving the ground. Was he being carried? It had been a long time since the last time he was carried. His mom had probably been the last one.

“Now, don’t fall asleep on me.” The man spoke, as Tony made an effort to regain his senses. “You need to change back.”

“Who… Are you?”

“The name is Morrison. I’m a friend.”


End file.
